Mr Slughorn or: How He Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Slytherin
by kimj721
Summary: A young Horace Slughorn comes to terms with being Sorted into Slytherin.
1. He Turns Wide Eyes to Hogwarts' Glory

"Carmina Burrell," boomed Phineas Nigellus Black, the Hogwarts Headmaster.

A young red-haired woman with green eyes rushed onto the dais. She slowed down as she gently seated herself upon the three-legged stool in view of everyone. She placed the Sorting Hat on top of her plaited hair and tightly crossed her fingers in front of her robes. A trickle of sweat streaked down one of her cheeks amid her smattering of freckles. There were a few heartbeats' worth of silence during which Carmina was not the only one holding her breath.

"Ravenclaw!" declared the famed and rumpled headpiece. The students at the second of the four tables, aligned parallel to each other and perpendicular to the small stage, burst into cheers. The ginger girl bounded down to her new housemates.

Legions of lit candles floated and flickered gently above the gust-tousled heads of the new pupils, including Horace Slughorn. The languid, leisurely movement of the flames contrasted with the massive windstorm the students had endured while crossing the Black Lake. Many of the new initiates were yawning, ready to end one exciting day and dream of what they faced the next. Horace, however, was gazing intently through his gooseberry-hued eyes as the Sorting Ceremony unfolded before him.

"Lloyd Carrow." "Slytherin!"

People-watching was Horace's favorite pastime. The pale youth was prone to shyness, which fed into a persistent loneliness that left him feeling hollow. He had learned that the easiest way for him to make friends was to ask them questions about themselves, and be interested in their responses. Watching other witches and wizards going about their business, and trying to guess their motivations based on their actions, was excellent practice for learning how to engage new acquaintances. He spent a significant amount of time sitting in the tea shops of Wizarding London, slowly sipping on steaming beverages while observing the behaviors of fellow patrons inside and passersby outside.

"Randall Channon." "Hufflepuff!"

Horace wondered into which house he would be Sorted when it was his turn. He knew that his natural skittishness tended towards outright cowardice. His previous academic pursuits had been decidedly lackluster. That probably left him in Hufflepuff, which was rumored to have the coziest chambers in all of Hogwarts. Horace imagined lounging in an overstuffed chair in the warm yellow common room, chatting about the latest news from the Daily Prophet or munching on the homemade Cauldron Cakes that someone's parents sent in an owl-delivered care package.

"Sarah Cybelle." "Ravenclaw!"

Horace was not the only first year who watched sharply instead of sleepily. The tall, skinny young man in front of him was also eagerly taking in all of the sights. Ajax had been Horace's dearest friend since an accidental meeting a year or so earlier in Diagon Alley. They made a bit of an odd pair, with opposites attracting and all of that. Where Horace was reserved, Ajax was outgoing. Horace needed to put significant effort into interacting with new associates, while Ajax was a natural comedian who could entertain anyone with his wide grin and expansive gestures.

"Invictus Dinchcliffe."

A rotund blond lad climbed up to the stool. He was so nervous that when he went to put the Sorting Hat on his crown, he missed and it slid down the side of his head until it hung from one ear like a patchwork earring. As the blushing boy adjusted the headwear, the sound of the Hat's "Gryffindor!" declaration was nearly drowned out by the sudden ear-piercing peal of a guffaw emitted from the line of first years not yet Sorted.

And there was the most obvious difference between the two chums: Horace was soft-spoken, and Ajax's snicker could shatter every sneakoscope in Shetland. Ajax was never embarrassed by his laugh, even as those around him might feel differently. Instead, he freely loosed it on the general public whenever he felt the need, which was often as he was a generally genial gentleman. In fact, it was the sound of Ajax's chuckles that drew Horace to him. Horace may have enjoyed watching people, but it was his ears and not his eyes that had led him to his now-closest friend those months ago. While waiting for his name to be called, he thought back to that brisk autumn day.


	2. The Laugh That Staunched a Bully's Slip

The afternoon had passed pleasantly enough. Horace had been savoring a mug of sweetened Perspicaci-Tea from one of his favorite Diagon Alley cafés, observing the other customers in between bites of a pair of Pumpkin Pasties. As he exited the shop, he saw a gang of mostly teenaged boys ahead. The largest, who was also at the front of the pack, was fiddling with the inside pocket of his robe. As stealthily as someone with hands the size of bread loaves could manage, the teen pulled out an Insta-Ice charm and casually dropped it on the cobblestones behind him. It landed just ahead of one of his taller and more-pimpled flunkies, who flailed wildly as his foot hit the suddenly slippery patch.

Horace sucked in a horrified breath as the no longer entirely vertical lad waved his hands in an almost comical manner, trying to right himself without causing injury. After a moment the acne-ridden wizard regained his balance without falling. The leader pointed and snickered at his lieutenant's acrobatic antics. The others followed suit and joined, but none so noisily or boisterously as a beanpole of a Black boy on the outskirts of the group. The victim's cheeks had flushed crimson in embarrassment. He glanced at the source of his torment, but he decided against challenging the boss. Instead, looking for a weaker opponent against whom to vent his anger, he turned to the scrawny lad who appeared quite a bit younger than the rest.

"You find something funny, Cackle Dolt?" fumed the red-faced henchman, using what appeared to be some kind of nasty nickname.

The skinny youth's braying stopped abruptly, but he still sported a wide grin. "You're not hurt, mate," he cheered. "And that was exceptional!" He waved his dark brown arms in a fair imitation of his now-angry compatriot's movements. "I would have wiped out for sure but you looked like a fantastic dancer!"

The still-blushing bruiser advanced on the leaner lad, menacingly brandishing his wand. "I'm going to wipe that smile off of your face," the bully thundered. The threat accomplished that goal immediately, as the younger boy's face fell, but that didn't seem to slow the impending assault. Nor did the young man in charge appear at all inclined to intervene, instead folding his arms across his chest and looking as if he were watching a Quidditch match.

Before he fully grasped what he was doing, Horace bounded towards the group, arranging his face in a patently fake cheerful fashion. "Now there, friend, that's no way to treat the one who saved you from finishing tail over teakettle!" The assailant paused to stare at Horace, who quickly added, "Why, this chum of yours just violated the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery to cast Arresto Momentum for you!" The chum in question, who had done no such thing, stared at Horace open-mouthed.

The thwarted attacker protested, "He doesn't even have a wand yet!"

"Of course not," replied Horace, thinking quickly as he started to perspire, "but he was so worried for you he was able to cast it wordlessly! I saw the whole thing and it was quite impressive, let me tell you."

"We've wasted enough time here," the chief suddenly bellowed. "Let's get going."

The goon put his wand away while glaring at Horace and the young Black man. "Yes, let's leave these children and move on," he added. The pack sauntered away, abandoning their former companion with Horace.

The smile returned to the young man's face as he turned toward Horace. "That was some quick thinking, wagging your silver tongue like that!"

"I was glad to help," Horace responded. "But if I may be so bold, those friends of yours don't seem very, well, friendly."

"Oh, I just met them today," answered the lad. "They seemed interesting so I thought I'd tag along. Sometimes my luck doesn't hold out, you know?"

The shy Horace couldn't imagine attaching himself to a group of strangers, but it wasn't as if the happy chap in front of him was a stranger any longer. He stuck out his hand in greeting and said, "By the way, Horace Slughorn's the name."

The boy returned a firm handshake, beaming, "And my name is-"


	3. Sorting is Such Sweet Sorrow

"Ajax Shacklebolt!" boomed Headmaster Black, continuing the roll call in the Great Hall.

Horace shook himself out of his memories. He grinned as Ajax leapt up to the stool and energetically pulled the Sorting Hat over his ears. After only a moment, the Hat cried, "Hufflepuff!"

Applause erupted from the table on the south side of the hall. On his way to the congratulatory crowd under the banana-colored badger banner, Ajax leaned over to Horace and cheerfully whispered, "I'll save you a seat, mate!"

Horace barely had time to nod an acknowledgement before Black cried, "Horace Slughorn!"

Following in his friend's footsteps, Horace gently seated himself and donned the Hat. He perched on the edge of the stool, expecting a quick proclamation.

The Hat remained silent.

After he had silently counted to ten twice, he wondered if he was somehow wearing the Hat wrong. He reached up to adjust it, only to hear the Hat's voice inside his head bark, "Leave it alone; I'm deliberating!"

Horace stiffly returned his arms to his sides, balling his hands into nervous fists. He sat more firmly on the stool, feeling perspiration clinging to the neckline of his robe. He glanced over at Ajax, who looked back with something akin to pity.

The Hat remained silent.

The assembled pupils started to murmur among themselves. Horace, embarrassed, stared down at the floor to hide his blush. He heard a few whispered repetitions of the word "Hatstall".

The Hat remained silent.

Finally, as Horace started to tremble, the Hat announced, "Slytherin!"

Paralyzed with surprise, first by the delay and then by the decision, Horace had to receive a slight push from the headmaster to start walking towards the Slytherin table at the north end. He took a moment to collect himself and paste a fake smile on his face. He trudged over to where the students were clapping under their green serpent flag. He took an empty seat next to his fellow first year Lloyd Callow.

In what seemed no time at all to the frazzled Horace, the Sorting Ceremony was completed and the tables were magically laden with a feast of foodstuffs. Lloyd took a large bite of roast pheasant and wild rice, wiping the rich gravy from his chin and declaring with a thick Welsh accent, "The Hogwarts' kitchen elves really live up to their reputation as excellent cooks!" Horace grunted agreeably, but each forkful of his bubble and squeak felt as if it turned to ash in his mouth and granite in his belly.

The chatter in the Great Hall was suddenly shattered by a piercing laugh from the Hufflepuff table, loud enough that even the Slytherins could hear it from across the room. Horace stopped himself from looking, but he knew that sound could only have come from Ajax, who was clearly enjoying himself with his new friends.

As the dinner droned on, Horace found that his people-watching skills had fled along with his good cheer. He could only nod or make noncommittal noises in response to the other Slytherins' conversations, and otherwise stared at his plate without really seeing the spotted dick there.

Eventually all of the students had eaten their fill, and Black dismissed the tables one by one to retire to their houses. Hufflepuff was selected first. Horace couldn't resist watching them this time. His eyes met Ajax's, and the latter waved sheepishly at the former as the 'Puffs filed out. The Slytherins around him continued their conversations, but all of Horace's attention was on his friend's exit. He had really thought that he, too, would be in Hufflepuff. All he wanted was to be surrounded by loyal friends who had his back. How in the world did that translate into the house with the most intimidating reputation, the house of the ambitious and the powerful?

Horace rested his head in his hands as Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were released to their respective towers. His excitement at beginning his time at Hogwarts had chilled into dread. Hogwarts friendships usually lasted for life, and students typically made the majority of their relationships within their House. How would he fit in with others like Lloyd, who was proudly explaining his plans to streamline workflows and downsize administrative staff within the Ministry of Magic? He had no idea and worried he was looking at a lifetime of loneliness.


	4. Sad Sighs Say So Much

His mood sinking lower with each descending step of the staircase, Horace dutifully if cheerlessly followed the upperclassmen from the Great Hall down to the dungeon. He tried to focus on not stepping on the robes of the student in front of him as he nearly tripped several times on the rough stone floor.

The prefects led the students through a hidden door and into their new home as Horace sighed quietly. The sickly green lights throughout the common room matched Horace's face, based on the tossing and turning of the butterflies in his stomach. Upperclassmen pushed past the newer pupils and bounded over to the dormitories to settle in for the year, gossiping about the year's Quidditch schedule.

Prefects herded the remaining young people into a semicircle around the fireplace. One of them, tall and tawny-skinned, strode in front of the intricately carved mantel. As her almond-shaped brown eyes twinkled in time with the flames, she turned to address the newcomers. "My name is Robiglia Eeylops," she said in a warm voice, "and I have the honor of being the first to officially welcome you to the noble house of Slytherin!"

A loud peal of raucous cheers erupted from most of the group immediately following her introduction. Horace hurriedly imitated them, pasting a wide smile across his face that he knew didn't quite reach his eyes. He noticed that several of his fellow first years also appeared to have had to fake the enthusiasm. One or two failed to even try, instead echoing his earlier sad sighs.

The huzzahs were allowed to continue for a few seconds until Robiglia raised her hands for silence. "Our founder, Salazar Slytherin, allowed only the best students into his house," she continued. "He valued those who were resourceful, ambitious, and ready to become the world's strongest leaders. You are here because you have the potential for greatness. We are here to help each other achieve that greatness!" Another round of whoops emerged from the assembled audience.

This time the applause was allowed to die down naturally, and the prefect transitioned to a more somber tone as she glanced at some of the less enthusiastic first years, including Horace. "Some of you may have heard from other witches and wizards that you should not be ashamed of being Slytherin. They say we are power-hungry. They say we are ruthless."

"I say they are jealous!" squeaked Lloyd. Horace sucked in a breath at the interruption, but Robiglia merely winked and cried, "Exactly! The students in the towers often have their heads in the clouds and their noses in the air. They envy and fear us, and will try to tear us down. This common room and dormitories are a sanctuary where we build each other up. We will not tolerate that negativity coming through our doors or into our hearts. Here we will steel our souls and shore up our talents, so that out there we can prove ourselves and lead the wizarding world into the future!"

To the sounds of the final ovation, Robiglia nodded at the crowd with a smile, then turned on her heels and marched off to the dormitories. Two other prefects stepped forward in her wake to direct the first years to their respective rooms.

Horace was lucky enough to be assigned a bed next to a window, which was balanced by having to be next to the incessantly talkative Lloyd. "That Robiglia can give quite a speech, can't she?" Lloyd enthused. Without waiting for an answer, he added in a conspiratorial tone, "I hear that she's gunning for a high-level job at the Ministry of Magic right after graduation. She took a mess of OWL exams last year and aced nearly every one!"

Horace turned towards his window and sighed softly. He imagined that Robiglia's pep talk would have felt less hollow to him if he had heard it from Hufflepuff. She apparently knew exactly what her ambitions were and how to approach them, while he lacked the first clue what he wanted to do. He hadn't given much thought past hanging out with Ajax, which now seemed unlikely given their respective House assignments.

A giant squid swam past Horace's window, and he imagined that its tentacles were dragging him down and drowning him in a sea of uncertainty.


	5. He's Not Even Supposed To Be Slytherin!

The next morning, Horace learned that his first class, Charms, was shared between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. He arrived early at the classroom, sat towards the back of the room, and brought extra parchment so he could save the seat next to him for Ajax. Sure enough, Ajax's laugh preceded him into the classroom and Horace frantically waved at his friend. Ajax bounded over and gave Horace a quick hug, thumping his palm against Horace's back.

"Good morning, mate!" greeted Ajax. "That ceremony last night was something else, wasn't it?"

"It was certainly full of surprises," Horace replied a bit ruefully.

"Oh, I want you to meet someone." Ajax waved across the room at a lanky fellow with dark brown skin and curly black hair. "Horace, this is my roommate Randall Channon." Horace dutifully smiled at the newcomer and held out his hand. "Randy, this is my dear friend Horace." Randy had just grasped Horace's hand when Ajax added brightly, "Horace is in Slytherin!"

The polite smile slid off of Randall's face as his hand slid out of Horace's shake. Oblivious to the change in his bunkmate's demeanor, Ajax continued blithely, "Randy's parents are Muggles." Ajax failed to notice the glare Randall sent his way. "And they raise dogs for a living!"

Horace was determined to shake off Randall's rudeness and prove that he had no interest in blood purity. "Pet stores have always been one of my favorite places to visit. What was it like growing up in one?"

"My parents do NOT own a pet store," Randall spat with enough venom to make the mythical Slytherin serpent even greener with envy. "They breed collies for livestock herding and hounds for hunting. These are important beasts who perform duties for which Muggles lack spells."

"Can you just imagine how amazing that is?" Ajax marveled. "All of those cold noses and wildly wagging tails!" He chortled gleefully, causing all eyes in the classroom to turn towards him as his laugh filled the hall. The professor happened to enter the classroom at exactly that moment. She turned to the source of the noise and declared, "Ah, a volunteer! Please come up here, lad, and pass out these supplies to each of your classmates."

With his boundless enthusiasm, Ajax skipped to the front of the classroom to collect the parchments from the professor. Randall faced Horace across the empty seat and whispered, "I grew up in the Muggle world facing prejudice because of the color of my skin. Now I learn that in the wizarding world, anti-Blackness is not as prominent; instead I will face prejudice because I'm only a "Mudblood". I understand that attitude was voiced most vociferously by your house's founder, and most frequently by members of that house."

Horace raised his hands as if warding off an attack. "Hey, now. Maybe others are like that, but not me! There are plenty of great wizards who come from humble beginnings, and I'd be a fool to pretend that wasn't the case!"

Randall pondered this and nodded slowly. "Ajax is a really good guy, and since he's vouched for you, I'm willing to take you at your word."

Horace gulped gratefully. "Thanks for that, mate. I don't even know how I ended up in Slytherin. I've never thought of myself as wanting to be a powerful person."

"We - I mean, Muggles - have a saying," responded Randall. "'Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.' It might be worth keeping in mind. Still," he mused further, "if you have the power to show others that bigotry is wrong, that would be quite honorable."

Horace smiled shyly. "That's a really good idea. If more Slytherins were open-minded, other folks might not judge them so harshly." And he would be respected both within and outside of his house, he thought.

"Who's judging who harshly?" piped Ajax as he returned to his seat, handing the last few parchments to Horace and Randall.

Randall snorted. "We're judging you for that ear-splitting klaxon that you call a laugh," he joked. All three of them giggled at this, and then they settled down to the lesson. Horace had a lighter heart than he had at the beginning of the class. Now he had something of a purpose in Slytherin: talking to others about being open-minded towards new acquaintances. Still, that didn't seem like the kind of grand ambition that characterized others in his house, and he remained unsure of why he had been Sorted where he had.


	6. Because the Muggle Post is Fine

Horace returned to the Slytherin dungeon deep in thought. As he walked in front of the fireplace, he felt the impact of a dull projectile hitting his side. It was a balled-up roll of parchment, with the words "Muggle Post" still visible amid the wrinkles.

"Oy, first year," said Robiglia apologetically. "I was aiming for the flames. It's best to walk across the other side of the room to avoid rough drafts headed for fiery destruction."

He nodded and started to move where she indicated, but he decided instead to try to start up a conversation with the frustrated prefect. "Homework on the very first day?" he said with a friendly expression. "That makes me glad I'm only a first year."

She chuckled ruefully. "In the faculty's defense, they are trying to get us prepared in time for our NEWTs." She reached into the bag next to her and pulled out a fresh roll of parchment. "Still, in all my years of Muggle Studies, this is the first time a topic has really stumped me."

He sat down in a nearby easy chair and took advantage of the conversational opening she had given him. "So you're in Muggle Studies? What's the assignment that's causing so much difficulty?"

She leaned forward, eager for an excuse to procrastinate. "Yes, I take Muggle Studies. I want to move up the ladder in the Ministry of Magic and it's important to show knowledge of and sensitivity towards the rest of the world." She pointed her quill accusingly at him. "I know Slytherin has a tendency to bring in wizards who believe in that 'blood purity' nonsense. If you're one of them, keep your mouth shut around me."

He shook his head. "Not me. Some of my best friends are Muggle-born!" He smothered a laugh imagining what Randall's horrified reaction would be to being included in the company of a Slytherin's buddies.

She relaxed a bit. "Good. My Grams was a Muggle-born from Japan, and I loved her so much." She sighed. "I wish she was still with us; she would be able to help me with this-" She gestured forlornly at the still-blank parchment.

"What's the topic?" he asked. "I don't have much experience in the Muggle world, but maybe a fresh perspective could help."

She sighed. "This shouldn't even be this difficult; we were given two weeks, but I can't even get it started." She pulled out another parchment and said, "Here, these are my notes from that day. The official topic is," she adopted a pretty spot-on imitation of the professor, "'consider the occupation of your parent(s) or guardian(s), and explain what the modern Muggle equivalent would be.'"

Setting her notes aside, she continued, "My extended family owns the Eeylops Owl Emporium chain. My parents are the primary source of trained owls for all of the locations." A smile crept across her face and her eyes closed in memory. "It was wonderful growing up with a beautiful, giant aviary in our backyard. My best friends from infanthood were owlets. I learned to read and write from the fake letters my parents would create to train the little ones."

"That sounds amazing," he replied.

"It was," she said dreamily. Then she opened her eyes and her mouth turned down into a frown. "And that's the problem. Wizards use owls to carry our mail. Muggles use other Muggles. It's a job for them, like a teacher or a shopkeeper. And I can't find any good way to compare my family's owls to their vocation. The Muggle Post is fine, a fine institution, and it's offensive for me to try to compare them to animals." She sighed again. "I thought about trying to write on the historic Muggle use of something called the 'Pony Express', but the professor made sure to emphasize that we have to write on the current Muggle world, not anything in the past." She finger-combed her long black hair behind her ear absentmindedly. "And even if I were willing to try the inappropriate analogy, it wouldn't work. Muggles aren't trained from birth to work at the post."

"That does seem to be a problem," he responded. He thought for a moment, determined to come up with a solution for the first person to at least try to make him feel that Slytherin might be an acceptable place to be. Then an idea began to percolate through his head like a steeping pot of Perspicaci-Tea.

"Would it be fair," he began slowly, "to describe your parents' profession as raising and training animals to perform a specific function?"

She pondered the suggestion. "I suppose if you left aside all the details of sending parcels and the like, then yes, that's an accurate statement. Why?"

A genuine smile, the first in his new House, flickered across his face. "I can't help, but I know someone who can. Can you sneak out of your Thursday morning class early and come by the Charms classroom?"

She put away her parchments with a matching smile. "Absolutely! I would even skip Quidditch practice if it would help!" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Only please don't let the team captain hear that I said that." They shared a laugh, and Horace noticed with surprise that this was the first time he had actually been able to relax since leaving the Hogwarts Express.


	7. Ajax Just Named His Son

At their next Charms class, Horace noted that Randall greeted him more warmly than he had previously. Ajax, of course, was in his usual good cheer. Horace had missed his friend and his shrieking laugh. But whereas on Tuesday he had felt regretful and lonely, today he found himself looking forward to catching up and creating new positive memories. He felt much more in his element and was happy to have shed some of his depression. He still was confused as to why he had been Sorted as he had, but he no longer felt as though it was the end of the world.

The Levitation Charm lesson was an instructive one, only once interrupted by Ajax's laughter when Lloyd Carrow accidentally brushed his own nose with his feather and sneezed it toward the professor. As the class came to a close, Horace turned to Randall and asked, "Hey, mate, do you have a minute?"

Randall blinked in confusion. "For what?"

Horace grinned. "I want to introduce you to a beautiful woman who needs your help."

Randall's expression soured and he said, "I think you're putting me on, making fun of me."

Horace dropped his smile and replied somberly, "No, I swear. I know someone who really could use your expertise. I promise this is no prank." He turned to Ajax. "Ajax, would I ever do something that cruel?"

Ajax emphatically shook his head. "No, if Horace swears he's being serious, he is. I'm the one who's a jokester. I wouldn't turn down this opportunity if I were you, Randy!"

Randall frowned for a moment, but nodded and let Horace lead him to the classroom entrance. Robiglia was standing awkwardly in the nearby corridor, her quill and parchment ready to take notes. Horace waved her over to where they were standing.

"Randall, this is Robiglia Eeylops. Robiglia, this is Randall Channon, a fellow first-year." Horace allowed himself to grin again. "Randall's family raises and trains dogs for specific jobs in the Muggle world!

Randall started to glare at Horace, but was halted by the huge smile Robiglia turned on him, her eyes widening and sparkling. "My parents raise owls for the wizarding world! This is perfect!" She whipped out her parchment and started furiously scribbling. "I assume Muggles also use food-based treats to reward tasks properly performed?" Randall nodded while Robiglia plowed on, "How do you illustrate what steps the dogs need to take without magic? Do you teach them to be able to follow written diagrams, or do you get on your hands and knees to imitate, or do you..." Horace left them to their animated conversation and returned to gather his belongings from the classroom.

"You must be looking to become the Hogwarts Matchmaker," Ajax guffawed.

"I'm not looking for romantic pairings," Horace laughed. "But I did find out that even across Hogwarts Houses, I can bring people together who have something in common." Horace explained to Ajax how he wanted the two to help each other, one to finish her essay, the other to see that not all Slytherins are bigots.

Ajax gave a low whistle in admiration. "So the two of them are off discussing every jot and tittle of raising beasts of burden. And, of course, both of them will now consider you responsible for their improved circumstances." He suddenly snapped his fingers, pointed at Horace, and announced, "Now I understand why you were Sorted into Slytherin."

"Wait, what?" asked a confused Horace. "What does making friends have to do with ambition?"

"You seek the power to help others reach their goals, and have them credit you with part of their success."

Horace frowned. "You're saying what, that I want friends as some sort of collection of trophies to display? That's not it at all!"

Ajax raised his hands. "No, that's not what I mean. Not exactly." He paused, then added, "Remember how we met? Those spattergroit-suffering bullies would have done real damage to me if you hadn't used your position as a bystander to step in and confuse them enough that they let me go. See, you want to use your abilities to make friends and help people. That's a noble use of power - helping those around you who could use a hand up."

Horace smirked ruefully. "Randall says that power corrupts."

Ajax blew a raspberry dismissively. "Power can corrupt, but it's a tool like any other. I'll be here to make sure you never get too full of yourself, no matter the differences in our Houses!"

"Gee, thanks," Horace said with a bit of sarcasm.

Ajax laughed characteristically loudly. "No worries, my friend! I am happy to perform this service for you. Oh, and I owe you for not letting those guys destroy my handsome face! I will name my eldest son after you."

"Sure, Horace Shacklebolt, rolls right off the tongue," Horace rolled his eyes.

"No, I will name him after what you do! He will be ... Kingmaker Shacklebolt!"

"That sounds more like a name Randall or Robiglia would give to one of their parents' charges," snorted Horace.

Ajax pretended to deeply ponder it. "Hm, maybe Kingly! Or Kingery! It will come to me."

"I'm sure your future spouse will appreciate the thought you've put into this," Horace giggled.

The two young men left the classroom in excellent spirits, not noticing that their other two friends were still discussing the finer points of clicker training.


	8. Man, I'm So Proud I'm Here

Horace stepped jauntily into the Slytherin common room that night. The green light was beginning to grow on him, feeling more soothing than spooky.

Robiglia was sipping from a steaming teacup. She saw Horace come in and gestured for him to sit across from her. "Here, let me pour you a mug of Sencha tea," she said, filling the cup from a beautiful golden teapot. "It was my Grams' favorite and the least I can do for you for helping me past my writer's block."

Horace took a long sniff of the flowery aroma before taking a swig of the delicious green beverage. "That's quite kind, thank you. So your essay has now practically written itself?"

She grinned. "Pretty much. It didn't even occur to me to focus on the actual rearing of the owls instead of the specific tasks they perform. That was the stroke of brilliance, mate, which I couldn't see on my own." She took a sip, and with a mischievous gleam in her eye, added nonchalantly, "Plus your friend is kind of cute for a first year. I hear they're bringing in a band for the Hallowe'en Feast this year; maybe I'll ask him for a dance."

Horace choked on his tea and tried to avoid spluttering over himself while Robiglia laughed. A male student who appeared to be around her age entered the common room. He glanced at the two of them and gleefully called to Robiglia, "Now, Robbie, you're not practicing your potions on that poor little fellow?"

Robiglia grinned and shouted back, "Only if he's allergic to fine Japanese tea! Come here, Marco, and meet the young man who helped me with that cursed essay!"

"Ah, so you are the fresh-faced frosh who managed to get my fellow Chaser's head back into the game?" he asked, walking over to shake Horace's hand. "We may have to dedicate next week's match to you!"

Robiglia rolled her eyes. "Horace, meet Marco, a friend of mine from the Slytherin Quidditch team and the biggest flirt in all of Hogwarts."

Marco struck a comedically puffed-up pose. "You know what they say, 'an angel in the air,'" he wiggled his eyebrows lasciviously at Horace, "'a demon in my lair.'"

The two older students laughed at what was clearly a longstanding joke about their rooms in the dungeon. Horace grinned at being included in their merriment, then asked Marco, "So, you're a Chaser as well?"

Marco smiled and said, "Yes, although my true calling is of the epicurean variety."

Robiglia snorted. "The only reason he plays Quidditch at all is that controlling the Quaffle is decent exercise so he can eat more."

Marco sniffed, pretending to be offended. "My dream is to create an invitation-only social organization where only the finest witches and wizards enjoy the most exotic food and drink from throughout the world." He flicked his fingers distastefully towards Robiglia, who continued to grin. "Certain ruffians would, of course, be permanently banned from my hallowed halls."

Horace laughed and added, "So you're talking something like a club, where you get the folks together who you feel deserve to enjoy each other's company?"

"Exactly!" said Marco, sticking his tongue out at Robiglia. "See, this young man understands and appreciates my greatness!"

Stifling a yawn, Horace stood and said, "This 'young man' has had a full day and needs to go get his beauty sleep."

"Capital idea!" Marco winked as Horace left towards his dormitory. Horace climbed the stairs, put on his pajamas, and smiled as Lloyd Carrow prattled about all the horrible things he wanted to do to the Gryffindor Quidditch team prior to their next match against Slytherin. Horace mentally tuned out Lloyd's somewhat gruesome fantasies and thought about creating a club of his favorite acquaintances. It definitely sounded like something he would enjoy doing. Maybe he would focus more on encouraging people with unique talents to network than on acquiring plimpie caviar or whatever delicacies Marco fancied. He pondered names for his group, deciding "Slughorn's Super Supper Club" was too long.

He yawned again as the giant squid swam past, this time moving its tentacles in what Horace imagined was a friendly wave. A smile spread across his face as his eyes closed and the sound of the swishing lake water rocked him to a restful sleep.

Author's note: Thanks to the Harry Potter Wiki for functioning as my Pensieve, and the #WizardTeam podcast from Black Girls Nerd Out for the inspiration.


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